SALT: A Post-Apocalyptic Thriller

by Colin F. Barnes

  “Let the boy go,” Jim yelled while he could still be heard.

  Heinrich looked at Jim and sneered. But they were true to their word, and they let Danny go. The boy ran across the deck into Eva’s arms. She’d barely said a word all morning.

  Jim didn’t blame her. It was a lot to deal with, a lot to take in.

  And she had her own problems with the killer still on the loose, although it wasn’t lost on her that Heinrich had a pistol. Though he could hardly be mistaken for someone with an American accent. Which meant either Frank was lying, purposely diverting the investigation and was in on it with Faust all along, or Heinrich was indeed innocent of the murders and his having a pistol was just a coincidence.

  It was that moment that it truly hit him.

  None of it mattered any more. It wasn’t his problem to worry about any longer.

  He raised his hand to wave goodbye for the last time. The oar slipped through the broken oarlock, sending it floating away. Only Eva and Duncan returned the gesture. He slumped on the wooden bench, clutching the remaining oar as rain lashed against his face. He pulled his hood up to keep dry, not wanting to be too exposed to any potential bacteria, though, he thought, that was a case of locking the stable door after the horse had bolted. He had no real supplies and nowhere to go.

  Bacterial infection or not, his time was now out of his hands and in the lap of whatever truly ruled the world.

  Despite the waves, the tide was receding and dragging him away from the flotilla. A fleet of garbage that had washed in overnight followed him. Plastic, old pieces of wreckage, and thick lumps of seaweed.

  It took an hour. The Bravo slipped beneath the horizon. He could just make out a few of the masts, but within minutes the Pico De Orizaba obscured them. Duncan stood on the rail until the very last, like a queen’s guard doing his duty.

  Jim was confident he had left behind a better man. Duncan would be good for the flotilla’s future.

  While Jim floated away on the tide, he took out the picture he had torn up. He had pieced it back together with sticky tape. Only the thought of seeing Morag again in whatever afterlife awaited him gave him any comfort. He wasn’t scared of dying, having desired it just a day before; he was afraid of what he might find on the other side. He knew he hadn’t been a good man and knew also how he would be judged if such a system existed.

  With the rain and wind refusing to let up, Jim hunkered down in the exposed boat, crossing his arms and tucking his chin into his chest, letting his hood hang down, providing some protection from the elements. He continued to clutch the picture in his fist, waiting… for whatever might come.

  ***

  Jim guessed he must have sat there, in a huddle, for at least a few hours. At one point he dozed off, passing in and out of a light, fractured sleep.

  The sun had found a gap between the clouds, warming his back now that the rain had stopped. He turned to appreciate the rare glimpse of golden light, noting it was coming to early evening, probably around five or six. It would be a further few hours to sundown yet.

  In the distance, forty degrees to his left, on the horizon, he saw the glint of something made from glass or metal. Shading his eyes with his hand and squinting, he could make out the upright sections of a number of masts. Other ships…

  The science flotilla, he thought. It must be them! Without a chart to check, he decided to head that way, knowing that if these were his last days, he might as well find out what had happened and perhaps… find Angelina. Despite all their secret correspondence, he’d never met her, didn’t know what she looked like, or how she sounded.

  There was something in the communications that he read as affection. It seemed crazy considering how short the messages were, but then he’d known people to have relationships over Twitter. Word count didn’t seem a prerequisite to developing feelings for someone, though he thought that could well be wishful thinking on his part. Either way, he used his single oar to propel himself towards the ships, his curiosity urging him on, giving him a new lease on life, or at least a short extension. Considering how Mike had returned, he might not want to find out what happened.

  Whatever was there, he had to see, at least once. He rowed harder, feeling his muscles protest. It wasn’t like there was anywhere else to go, he thought; just keep rowing… the truth is not far away.

  Chapter 37

  Eva gripped Danny close, ignoring the pain in her side. “I’m so glad you’re safe,” she said. “I…” She trailed off, not wanting to give the poor kid a lecture. He had left to try to save them and didn’t deserve any kind of reprimand. “Are you okay?” she asked, releasing him from the hug. Danny nodded, but didn’t speak. Eva didn’t push him, knowing how much of a traumatic experience it must have been at the hands of Dietmar and his people. He seemed like the de facto leader now that Susan was gone. She still couldn’t believe it was Jim who had killed her, despite his confession.

  She remembered how Jim had been with her and how he had lost control, but despite everything, she knew Jim. Knew he was a good man and wouldn’t have killed Susan. There was something else behind that. She didn’t discount that it could have been Dietmar. Although equally as devout as Susan, he seemed to have come to the fore since her arrest. Perhaps he could taste the power of leading the group and had decided to take it for himself.

  “Are you hungry, thirsty?” Eva asked.

  “Hungry,” Danny said.

  “We’ll just wait a few moments for Duncan, and we’ll go fix us some breakfast, okay?”

  That nod again.

  Duncan stood alone against the ship’s edge, staring off into the horizon. Jim had long since disappeared, carried away by the tidal forces. Taking Danny with her, Eva joined Duncan.

  “He’ll be okay,” she said, knowing it to be a lame line. “Somehow… he’s like you, strong, a survivor.”

  “Only person to come back was Mike, and look what a state he was in,” Duncan said.

  Eva looked away, feeling the sting of grief come back after trying so hard to hide it over the last day. Things had happened so fast and the case had taken up so much of her time that she didn’t let it really sink in. With one sentence, Duncan had managed to dig up that terrible, hollow pain.

  “I’m sorry,” Duncan said, turning to face her, placing his hand on her upper arm. “That was thoughtless of me. I didn’t mean to say it so coldly. I know you both must miss him a great deal.” He addressed Danny now. The boy just stared away beyond the mountain, trying his best to hold in the tears.

  “Look at us three,” Eva said, forcing a smile, “trying not to cry. But come on, let’s not dwell on things. We’ve got work to do, and they wouldn’t want us to just mope around, would they? They’d want us to get this place back straight again.”

  “We can’t stay here,” Duncan said. “The cabins were all burnt out. The bridge and ops room likewise. Dietmar and his lot did a real number on it.”

  “Patrice and the others have set up in the Alonsa,” Eva said. “We could always—”

  “No,” Danny said, speaking up strongly. “Please don’t let us go back there.”

  She didn’t blame him; there would be too many reminders of his parents there, and truth be told, she didn’t fancy it either. Not with the killer still aboard somewhere. She had considered it to be Dietmar, but the evidence so far didn’t really point in his direction.

  Like most of Faust’s group, he hadn’t arrived on the flotilla until quite late and had had no involvement with engineering. None of them had displayed any natural talent for work or helping out Stanic and his people.

  “There’s one place we could go for the time being,” Eva said.

  Duncan’s shoulders dropped. “You’re not seriously suggesting Graves’ yacht? I know you’ve stayed there recently, but seriously? After all this…” He held his arms w
ide, indicating the fact that Marcus and his family appeared to be taking over.

  “He saved our lives,” Eva said, keeping her tone even, not wanting to get into an argument about it, “and has offered the use of his boats for a while. It’ll do until we decide how to go forward. Don’t you think this is as good a time as any to call a truce, build some bridges? Dietmar and the others will be gone by the end of the day; this is a chance for you to unite the flotilla.”

  Eva could already see the splinter group of ships being untethered from the flotilla. Five in total: three larger trawlers, a small catamaran, and a sailing yacht. It was clear where all the missing supplies had gone: Faust and the others had been stockpiling for a breakaway.

  Still, Eva thought it an agreeable price to pay for them leaving.

  From the door to the bridge, Marcus stepped out and approached them. Duncan tensed, his body language becoming less friendly, but stopping at outwardly hostile.

  “Hey, Danny boy,” Marcus said, ruffling his hair, “how you doing?”

  “Okay,” he said.

  “Good lad. Eva, Dunc… listen, I’m really sorry how things went down. I know we don’t always see eye to eye, and I know I caused your old man a few headaches along the way, but I did respect him, and I have to be honest, I’ll miss him. Faust’s lot are fucking off this evening, and I wanted to invite you three over to mine to discuss how we can all go forward. A single group, like. None of this tribal bullshit. Let’s do this properly.”

  He held out his hand. “What do you say, Dunc?”

  Duncan stared down at Marcus; his thick beard and wild hair, swept about his pale, strong face, made it hard to tell his mood.

  But then that was Duncan: impossible to read.

  “Come on,” Eva said after a while, unable to stand the tension. “It’s an olive branch.”

  A few more seconds stretched out, and as Marcus was about to pull his hand back, Duncan reached out and shook it. “Fine,” he said.

  It was done.

  Eva breathed a silent breath of relief. Maybe now they could return the place to some kind of order, and she could return to her case. She wouldn’t be entirely at ease until she had found the killer.

  “My lads have recovered a few of your things,” Marcus said to Duncan. “And your comic books, Danny boy. I’ll get them to bring them over once they’ve finished the clean-up. What say we head back and get some tea down us before we rebuild this place?”

  Eva turned up her nose. “Seaweed tea is the last thing I need after all this.”

  Marcus gave her a sly smile and a wink. “Let’s just say I’ve got a little stash of the real thing.”

  Eva smiled at the thought of real tea. The first since she’d been on the damned flotilla. “Okay,” she said, “count me in. I want to get back to the case as soon as possible anyway.”

  “You three go ahead,” Duncan said, turning away. “I need to meet with Stanic, thank him for his help and discuss something my dad asked me to look into. I’ll be with you later on.”

  “I’ll save you a cup,” Eva said.

  “Thanks.” Duncan walked to the edge and nimbly climbed down the ladder to land on the small network of fishing boats. His large frame squeezed through the makeshift passages. The other citizens quickly got out of his way, giving him nervous looks.

  With Jim’s confession, it would take the flotilla a while to trust Duncan. Some would pity him, while others would no doubt believe he had a hand in it too, given his close relationship with Jim.

  He was strong enough, though, she thought. He’d shoulder his father’s burden.

  “Right, let’s get you two sorted, shall we?” Marcus held out his arm for Eva in order to help reduce the problem with her ribs. She declined, wanting to prove she was still capable.

  During the night, while recovering from the smoke inhalation, she had cleaned the wound and applied a fresh bandage made from old T-shirts. Dr Singh’s stitches had held up; the skin was starting to heal over.

  As Eva followed Marcus to his yacht, she paid attention to the pain, used it to focus her mind on the person who had done this to her, and vowed she would, one way or another, find out who it was.

  ***

  Eva took a seat at the table inside Marcus’s yacht. Shaley and Frank were there, trying to decipher the files. Catherine and Marcus stood by the narrow kitchen counter, preparing tea.

  “Here, love. Get that down ya.” Catherine handed Eva a cup of real tea. The steam tickled her nose, bringing with it the much-missed smell. She sipped at the hot liquid, enjoying the taste.

  “Thanks,” Eva said, “I appreciate it.” Though she had to remind herself that she was only drinking the tea because Graves’ firm had stolen it from the container ship in the first place. But then property was a tricky thing to decide on the flotilla. Especially now things were breaking down.

  “Things should settle down once Dietmar and the others go,” Eva said, trying to make conversation.

  Marcus ignored the questions but turned to face her, leaning against the kitchen counter and cradling his own mug of tea. “You know,” he said, “I think you ought to drop the case, Eva. Given that Dietmar’s lot had a pistol and what they did to you and the others, it’s probably one of those that’s the killer. And they’ll be gone by the end of the day.”

  “Well, we can’t be sure. It doesn’t explain Frank’s suggestion that he spoke with an American accent.”

  “Frank could have been mistaken.”

  Frank looked up. “No. I was not mistaken. I might not be a brain doctor, but I ain’t so thick I can’t tell the difference.”

  Marcus shrugged it off. “Whatever, Frank, but it’s not like this investigation is going anywhere, is it? I mean, without the USB drive, we ain’t decoding that stuff any time soon.”

  “What about Brad?” Eva asked. “Surely his reaction back in engineering is worth keeping in mind?”

  Throughout all of this, Danny sat in the corner, dozing in and out of sleep. The poor kid had had way too much trauma to deal with of late. Eva couldn’t drop the case. Danny at least deserved to have some closure and justice.

  Eva finished her tea and left the cabin. The dark clouds were gathering as usual, bringing with them the cold winds. She embraced the cold, wanting the chill to wake her up, jolt her into action, or bring with it some epiphany.

  Sometimes, back in the day job, she’d just walk through the streets in the rain, letting the natural rhythms of life drum out insights into the particular case she was stalled on. It hadn’t failed then. No matter whether she got stuck or faced a brick wall, going out into the city and just tuning into life brought her clarity and a spark of an idea that often led to a breakthrough, or at least a new way of thinking about things.

  Standing out there on the flotilla, Eva watched as everyone returned to normal, carrying out their various jobs. People manned the fish farm while others maintained the inverted pyramids of the manual desalinators. It was then that it hit her: Jim was gone.

  It punched her in the gut. Made her rage at the injustice.

  How could these people just go back to normal life after the man who had single-handedly organised the flotilla had been so cruelly exiled? She wanted to grab these people by their collars and scream at them.

  But no. That wouldn’t do anything.

  They’re survivors, she thought. They’ve kept on keeping on regardless. It was the way of things. Even the murders didn’t seem to bother anyone, or the infection. She’d even seen people do away with the facemasks and salt baths. It was as if they’d accepted this was the end and were just living out an illusion until their time was up.

  To her left, facing south, Dietmar’s group were loading their stolen supplies onto their small fleet. To make her anger burn brighter, she even saw some of the other citize
ns helping, chatting, smiling. It seemed the fact they tried to burn her and the others alive meant nothing.

  Still, she was glad to see the back of them.

  Without them poisoning the populace, there was a hope the flotilla could be reunited.

  “Hey, Eva, you okay?”

  Eva jumped at the sudden voice. She spun round. Annette stood on a wooden jetty that led to Marcus’s yacht. Eva walked across the bow and leaned on the bollard. “I will be, eventually,” she said.

  “I heard what happened. I’m sorry, that must have been awful. How are the lungs?”

  “Every breath is a little sore, but I’m still breathing, so I can’t complain too much. What’s up?”

  “I finished running the bacteria tests from the guys in the lab and thought you should know right away.”

  Was this it? Was this the epiphany to break the case? Eva leaned forward. “And?”

  “Negative,” Annette said. “None of them showed any signs of the infection.”

  Eva slumped her shoulders. That was not what she wanted to hear at all. “Are you really sure? There could be no mistake? I don’t mean to suggest you don’t know what you’re doing, but is there any possibility the tests could be inaccurate?”

  “I’m afraid not. I ran them twice. Both times, each sample came up negative for the infection. I’m sorry. I knew this wasn’t the result you wanted.”

  So much for the epiphany, Eva thought. If anything, this set them back even further. The killer was out of reach, and nothing was helping them to get any closer. Annette’s face was tight with tension. Eva gave her a quick smile to ease the girl’s anxiety. “It’s okay, Anne. I know it’s not your fault. I really appreciate you turning the results around so quickly, and it has helped; at least we can discount those in engineering from the investigation.”